Lilly Pulitzer, 1931-2013

       

     In my mind, Lilly Pulitzer is synonymous with two things: summer and sororities. As a born and bred New York, I have a tendency to rebuff all things that aren’t black. However, as someone who has spend the majority of my summers in the Hamptons (or the island of Ralph Lauren and Tory Birch), I’ve developed a bit of a soft spot for her preppy prints which have the power of evoking that early-summer sunny disposition… even in the midst of a rainstorm.

        Sadly, the world lost a piece of that lit-from within personality when Pulitzer passed away a few weeks ago at the age of 81.  Her story has been rehashed many times, but it’s non-the-less impressive considering her unique initiation into the industry and the lasting legacy she is sure to leave.

            Born to a wealthy family on Long Island, Pulitzer grew up with some of America’s most prominent future socialites including the likes of Jackie Kennedy and C.Z. Guest (Jackie was the first to bring Pulitzer’s clothes into the public eye when she donned a signature Lily print for a spread featuring the first-family published in LIFE magazine.) Pulitzer went on to marry Peter Pulitzer (of those Pulitzers) in ’52 whom she settled with in Palm Beach and went on to have three kids with before they were divorced in ’69. Somewhere along the way, Lilly dealt with bouts of depression, which her doctor attributed to her lack of purpose as a stay at home mom. After spending time in a mental institution, Pulitzer tried to deal with her illness by finding new ways to occupy her time.

            Her quest for fulfillment led her to take over a juice stand in Palm Beach, FL. What started as a fun hobby for the wealthy wife of a citrus farm owner turned into a lucrative career path. In attempts of concealing a few of the many stains she acquired on the job, Pulitzer started having her own dresses made with specially printed fabrics that were loud enough to make any accidental splashing appear as if it have been a part of the fabric.

            Her whimsical prints and beachy aesthetic have since inspired thousands of women to dance barefoot in the sand. That famous motto of hers, “life’s a party, dress like it!” goes hand in hand with her carefree lifestyle that she was able to share with anyone who walked into one of her stores or bought one of her dresses. Although at some point her company (in my mind at least) took a wrong turn and proceeded down the southern university town rout (one of the most common look for a girl at my North Carolina high school, for example, was a Lilly Pulitzer skirt, a Michael Stars top, one or two strands of pearls, and tan boat shoes. #notchictothenextlev). When done right, however, a Lilly dress has the same potential allure as do thoughts of summer vacation. When a woman buys a Lilly dress, it’s not the garment she’s after- it’s the Lily Pulitzer way of life. 

lavender lemonade.

Spring has officially come to New York City, and everyone seems to have called in sick to enjoy this gorgeous weather. Personally, although I can only imagine how beautiful the Highline looks right now, I prefer somewhere a little less stressful to enjoy the sun's first outing of the season (even in the best of spirits, New Yorkers can get pretty nasty when it comes to vying for one of those coveted built-in chaise lounge spots up there.) Instead, I went way uptown to the upper-west portion of Central Park to take in the sun and peacefully The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemmingway (//Ralph Lauren's inspiration for his SS13 collection).

A few feet away from my own towel was a group of twenty/thirtysomethings having a very tumblr-esq picnic. Naturally my first instinct was annoyance- how dare they disturb my antisocial reading time!!- but this quickly morphed into mesmerization when I saw their curious looking drinks. After awhile it got the best of me and I had to ask them what it was exactly that they were drinking?

Lavender lemonade. I vaguely remember reading about it for the first time in a Vanity Fair interview with Taylor Swift. Honestly, I had no idea what was actually in this, but if it tasted nearly as pretty as it sounded, I knew I had to try it. Besides, when the weather gets to be in the low 80s like this, all I really want to do is relax on a roof/park/sidewalk and enjoy happy hour with a few friends.

Taking to the internet to satisfy my craving (dangerously easy access at all hours… especially when it comes to those 2am hankerings for fries) I found that, surprisingly, there aren't many options in the Manhattan area for this concoction. In fact, I could only find one: Cafe Fornant in Hell's Kitchen. While I'm sure it's a perfectly charming spot, I was in no mood to go to Hell's Kitchen (is one ever?) Instead, I decided to utilize the internet and the Whole Foods down the street in attempt to make my own version. I don't have my own kitchen yet (on a side note: I'm moving into my first solo NYC apartment in a month!!) but thankfully I found a simple-enough recipe on Joy the Baker (below, slightly modified) that called for little more than a pitcher, a friends stove, and a grocery store.

6 cups of water
1 cup of sugar (if you want to be healthy try 1/2 cup sugar, 1/4 cup raw agave nectar) 
1/4 cup honey
4 tbsp. dried culinary lavandar
 2 cups fresh lemon juice
thinly sliced lemons and lavender for garnish
red and purple food coloring

1 -over medium heat, mix 2 cups of water with the sugar (and nectar). Bring to a boil and stir. 

2 - remove from heat. stir in lavender and honey. 

3 - cover and let seep for 10 minutes. Strain out lavender (push buds into the bottom of the strainer to      get it all out) 

4 - mix the rest in a large bowl and combine everything in a large pitcher. To give it the gorgeous lavender color (let's be honest, most of the reason we want to drink this is because it's pretty) I mix in a few drops of blue and red food coloring - chill in refrigerator. 

5- **serve in mason jars on a rooftop in Nashville, SoHo or the W.Village over ice and garnish with lavender and sliced lemons.**

Review: The Carrie Diaries

AnnaSophia Robb for Watch! magazine, September 2012. 

              We all know the story of Carrie Bradshaw. We know all of her secrets, the gory details of her failed relationships, and more than anything, we know the ins and outs of her covetable closet. In fact, we feel like we know Carrie herself.

              But when it comes to Carrie's backstory, the details are a little murky. That's where the CW's new TV show, The Carrie Diaries, comes in. While it may seem odd that the prequel to a show largely responsible for turning HBO into the economic juggernaut that it is today has relocated to the CW, the network shift is logical once you consider the storyline. When I first got into Sex and the City around the 10th grade, I would have never have been caught dead watching the show with my parents. It would have been mortifying! However, minus a few cringe-worthy references, the high school version starting Anna Sophia Robb as a young Carrie Bradshaw seems almost prudish considering its predecessor. Think of it as PG-13 version of a Disney Channel show.  

      Carrie is your typical starry-eyed 16-year-old with big-city-dreams living in a small town in Connecticut circa 1984. Her overly eager attitude about everything from boys to Thanksgiving dinner can be borderline nauseating at times, but Robb’s quirky delivery makes for a charming rather than obnoxious character (though at times I admit I’m left thinking, “Seriously? Who wrote these lines?”) 

     My first run-in with the series was about a year ago when I read that Gossip Girl’s former costume designer, Eric Daman, was tied to the project. Naturally I was extremely excited to see what the prodigious ménage would bring. I didn’t think much more about it until mid-summer when a few publicity shots of Robb, in full Carrie regalia, strutting around the roof of their Brooklyn studios – the perfect backdrop of Manhattan positioned just behind her, were released. Maybe my expectations had been to high; a pairing with such potential may have been doomed at conception. In any case, I was not impressed with the final outcome. Alone, her clothes are cute… in a mall brand sort of way. But when you think of how far it could have gone… Remember that opening scene in the second Sex and the City movie? Where was the shoe porn I was hoping for?

          Despite my lack of enthusiasm for the wardrobe and the plot, I can’t seem to stop tuning in. Call it “hate-watching,” but I can’t think of anything more entertaining than Hollywood’s interpret of my life. Sadly I don’t have a gorgeous boyfriend waiting for me at home, nor a somewhat attractive Upper East Side boy inviting me to swanky soirees, but I can make a pretty strong case for similarities in other areas. There’s the fact that both Carrie and I are new to living alone in the city, our fabulous internships in fashion (although I know a couple of people who’ve interned at Interview and they weren’t quite as satisfied with the experience as Ms. Bradshaw seems to have been), and the fact that we’re both slowly being educated in the whole downtown nightlife ‘scene.’ And of course there’s the whole same name thing (carrie/caroline…) Not that it’s anything like it was in the ‘80s, but I can get pretty territorial when it comes to Indochine. I don’t need some subpar TV show bringing in tons of pre-teen tourists taking up all my reservations and I certainly don’t need it mucking up my impression of the immortal Carrie Bradshaw.

Lugano, Switzerland.

I am the worst when it comes to keeping a travel journal. Every time I go somewhere new, I make an honest effort to document it for future reference or to aid the nostalgia that I expect to roll in right around the month of February when I find myself holed up in my room for an entire month. I plan ahead. I buy the notebook. I even write down everything that's happening for the first few days or so!  But you know how it goes... everyday the entries get a little shorter and a little shorter until you're suddenly back home and realize you have all of three pages filled in. Or better yet, you left the entire thing in a random cafe across the Atlantic and have absolutely no way of getting it back. Thankfully for our forgetful generation (or is it just me?), we have social media and camera phones to do all the work for us. While I have a few valiant efforts on the dairy front, I imagine that when I'm old and in the mood to reflect, I will look to my iPhoto library and Twitter archives (which by that time will be completely out of date) for a trip down memory lane.

With that in mind, I wanted to share a few snapshots of last summer's trip to Switzerland. The photos above were all taken in Lugano, Switzerland: a breathtaking lake town with beautiful gardens dividing the town region from the water. On one end of the strip there were a bunch of low hanging trees dangling above the water that people were using as makeshift diving boards and swings to jump into the water. It was a ridiculously hot (August in Switzerland... whew!) day and I'd been sitting on a train for much longer than I would have liked so I took the opportunity and jumped in with them! Obviously these photos were taken pre-reckless ruining of outfit, but thankfully American Apparel bandeaus are practically made for this sort of activity (useful- considering those girls in the AA ads, who knows what kind of shenanigans they might get into that requires immediate removal of clothes). 

Random assortment of tweets from the trip: